Ride Easy, Stranger, Surrender to The Sky
by windscryer
Summary: Nobody gets out of this life alive. Especially not those who hunt the things that go bump in the night. PYO ASR 'verse. Death!fic.
1. Carry On, My Wayward Son

No, this is not me throwing in the towel on this 'verse. These are just my Muse's thoughts on how that—_far off day_ *glares at Muse*—will happen.

I wrote Dean's death some time ago, then Shawn's came next. Sam has yet to die, but it'll happen eventually, I'm sure. Also, these are published in order of writing, not chronological story order.

Also, Drag asked for more fic and she made Puppy Eyes of DoomTM.

Flailed over by Lu. All remaining mistakes are mine. The non-original characters, show type stuff, and lyrics, are not. They belong to people way more awesome and successful than me.

* * *

"It's a helluva thing, ain't it?"

Shawn turned his head, "What?"

Dean offered an ironic chuckle before tipping his bottle up for a swallow or two of beer.

Shawn kept watching him, but he said nothing more so eventually Shawn turned back to looking at the kids playing in the yard. He knew perfectly well after a lifetime of conversations like this that there was no pushing. You just had to sit and wait and eventually it would happen.

Not that it was always that way. Used to be Sam was the one you waited on and Dean required poking and prodding and cajoling and teasing.

But time had mellowed Dean.

Ish.

He'd never stopped playing his rock music loud and flirting with anything in a skirt and driving too damn fast, but the bouts of running fast and hard had started to be interspersed with ones of taking it slow and easy. Which, technically, Dean had always done. But the two parts used to be vastly disproportionate, the fast and hard lasting too long and the slow and easy ending too soon.

Time had brought balance.

Dean wasn't twenty-seven anymore and acting each day like this was going to last forever.

So Shawn waited. And almost forgot the question it took so long.

"Life."

Shawn arched an eyebrow, but kept his eyes on the kids.

"Life?" he repeated.

"Life," Dean said with a nod.

Shawn twisted his head in a sort of sideways nod. "Life indeed," he said.

Dean laughed and Shawn just kept watching the kids, his lips curling up at the corners.

"Life indeed," Dean said again, though his voice had softened and his gaze had unfocused.

Silence reigned for some time, pierced by the happy shrieks and squeals of the next generation as they raced around in the air and the sunshine.

"You know, I never really thought about the future?" Dean said.

Shawn glanced briefly at him, just a little surprised that the conversation was going to be more substantial than 'Life indeed'. He thought about saying something, but decided against it. This was Dean's show and interrupting had a tendency to bring the show to an early end.

"I just..." Dean shrugged. "Never saw the point. Beyond the next hunt, the next day, the next hour, or minute, or second. I guess because I knew that it was pointless. You never knew how long you had and planning for ten years out when you were probably going to die tomorrow seemed like such a waste. Of time. Of energy. Of everything. You know?"

Shawn nodded. "Yeah. I know."

Not that he'd had that attitude before he met Dean and Sam. Or even in the early years of knowing them.

But after all this time?

Hell yeah he knew.

It didn't stop him from planning (and the very notion made him laugh because compared to Gus, he didn't plan _anything_), but then Dean always told him he was too damn optimistic.

It helped to balance out Dean's pessimism.

It worked.

"And look how it all turned out."

Shawn did look, surveyed the spread before him, and nodded.

"I think it turned out awesome."

Dean chuckled again and held his bottle up in a toast.

"Hell yeah."

They sat and watched and Dean took another sip.

"Helluva legacy," he said finally.

"Dean?"

They both looked up at Sam's face.

"Hey, Sam," Shawn said.

Sam smiled softly. "Hey, Shawn."

Dean didn't say anything at first. Then Shawn coughed pointedly.

He grunted, but looked up after one more intense swallow.

"Hi, Sam," he all but whispered.

Sam's smile was a little more misty this time. "Hey, Dean," he said, just as quietly.

"Been a while."

"Yeah. It has."

"Shawn and I were just talking about life," Dean said, turning a grin up at his little brother.

"I know," Sam said, returning the expression in a smaller, though no less sincere measure.

Dean finished his bottle and set it down on the porch with a clunk.

"I suppose it's time then?" he asked, looking down at his feet, scuffing a boot on the porch underneath.

"Yeah," Shawn said, standing. "It's time, dude."

Dean nodded and took one last look at the kids.

"We did right by them," he said, then looked up. Shawn and Sam were both smiling.

"Yeah, we did," Sam said.

"Their world is a lot safer place," Shawn agreed.

Dean nodded. "Helluva legacy," he said again.

He put his hands on the arm rests and stood, shaking himself as he stepped away from the chair.

He stopped and looked back at his tired old body, laying there like a suit of clothes he'd shed. He'd managed to age gracefully, though as he gave his spirit form a look over he was pleased to see the strength and tone he hadn't quite had since before he'd gone over the hill.

He looked up and met Shawn and Sam's grins and gave them a dirty look.

"Oh like you didn't do the same," he said, arching an eyebrow as he gave them a good scan. They both looked like he did, young and fit and ready to take on the world.

It was a good thing to see.

The two of them shook their heads and laughed.

"Of course we did," Shawn said.

"I just don't think we had quite that expression on our faces," Sam put in dryly.

Dean rolled his shoulders. "Whatever." Then he looked around the yard, noticing now that it didn't quite look the same. The light was... different somehow. The colors bleached out a bit. And the kids were gone. "So, how do we do this? I don't see a white light or anything..."

Shawn laughed and Sam shook his head.

"We pulled some strings," Shawn said. "Well, Sam did. I mean, it was _my_ idea, but it took him wielding those puppy eyes of his to get it approved."

"What kind of strings?" Dean said warily.

The other two looked out toward the drive and Dean followed their gaze and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight that now greeted him.

"Oh, baby, how I have missed you, girl," he said as he crossed the yard at a jog, almost sliding to a stop next to the gleaming black and polished chrome beauty waiting for him.

Shawn and Sam joined him as he was circling around, gaze greedily devouring the sight before it, all smooth lines and rugged form. "Damn," he said, looking up. His eyes were glassy and he didn't bother to try and hide it.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

The two of them just shrugged and looked away, quite obviously both pleased and embarrassed.

Dean pulled open the door, eyes closing in sweet bliss as the familiar creak sounded.

Dean and Sam and Shawn may look twenty-something again, but that made her forty-something. She wore her age well, but then she always had.

He slid in and took a few moments to just savor the feelings of being back. Of being _home_.

Sam climbed in the front and Shawn in the back, scooting to the middle and leaning over the seat.

They watched in eager anticipation as Dean twisted the key in the ignition, the growl and purr making all three of them sigh.

It just felt... right.

Dean shifted into gear and pressed down on the gas, his right hand reaching over to flick on the stereo.

"_We're on a Hiiiighway to Hell! Hiiiiiiighway to Hell!"_ blasted out and Sam frowned as Shawn laughed.

"Dude," Sam said and popped the cassette out. "Not funny."

Dean just grinned as he glanced over. "It's a little funny."

Sam just stared. "Uh huh. How about this instead?"

He popped in a different cassette and Dean's grin stretched impossibly wide as the opener played.

"Good song," was all Dean said as he floored the gas and drove straight on down the open highway before him, no place he'd rather be than in his car with his little brother and his best friend.

_Carry on my wayward, son._

_There'll be peace when you are done._

_Lay your weary head to rest._

_Don't you cry no more._

* * *

Review, plz&thx.


	2. No, Shawn, the OTHER Light

Oh and the Jaime and Anna mentioned are the same ones from my other 'verse. I don't intend to make them a regular part of this 'verse, but I didn't want to waste time in the fic making up new kids. So, yeah.

* * *

The door fell open, crashing back into the wall with a bang, and the lightning and streetlight combined to give the figure silhouetted there an ominous backdrop.

Juliet's heart caught in her throat when she realized almost immediately that it wasn't Shawn. Just barely too tall—even with bowed head—to be him. Wider in the shoulders and legs a little too bowed.

"Dean?" she said and hurried down the stairs.

She'd heard the car pull up outside, had recognized the engine immediately after almost thirty years of hearing it as often as she did.

He limped inside, flipping on the hall light and shutting the door behind himself.

But... wait. _Why_ was he shutting the door? Shawn should be coming in too.

He turned back, and lifted his head, though he didn't look at her as he dripped mud and blood and rain all over her clean entryway floor.

"Juliet," he said softly, hesitantly.

And she knew.

He didn't have to say any more.

She dropped down abruptly, her ass hitting the stair under her with a thump and a flare of pain she'd feel for a day or two. Her hand came up to grip the banister next to her.

"Please tell me it's not..." She couldn't finish it. She didn't have to.

His eyes squeezed shut and then he squared his shoulders and looked up at her.

The sorrow and regret and pain in his eyes wordlessly confirmed what she already knew.

Her head dropped, chin resting on her chest as the tears welled up and silently fell, leaving darkened spots on her pajama pants.

"I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm so sorry. He-"

She couldn't listen to any more.

"Get out."

It was barely audible, but he heard it as clearly as the thunder that followed her words, the sky echoing her building fury.

He said nothing else, his shoulders sinking back down, the weight of his years and experience settling into place.

He turned and opened the door, pausing when he heard her first sob, the one she couldn't quite stifle.

Then he left, shutting the door with a soft click.

She sat on those stairs, clinging to the cool wood of the banister, and cried for her husband who wouldn't be coming home.

o.o

It wasn't supposed to be him.

That was all she could think the next day.

She called in sick and she sounded stuffy and congested, so there wasn't any question.

Then she went back to bed and cried until she couldn't think of anything but how it wasn't supposed to be him.

_She_ was the one with the dangerous job.

_She_ was the one who went to work each day and never knew if she would come home again.

She had never prepared herself for this moment because she was never supposed to have experienced it.

Even with Shawn's work with the department, the odds of this happening to him were...

Her face crumpled again and the tears welled up fresh, a harsh, choked cry breaking free of her throat.

She curled around his pillow and inhaled the smell of him until she was dizzy from the intakes of breath.

She slept at some point, exhausted.

She thought she might have called and said she wouldn't be back for the rest of the week.

Or maybe Carlton had called her.

She didn't know anymore.

She didn't care.

He was gone and he wasn't coming back and it hurt.

She cried until it felt like that was all she'd ever done.

And then she cried a little bit more.

o.o

She didn't know what time it was—or even what day—when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She lashed out, instinctive and ingrained from years of training, her brain permanently wired to assume everything was a threat at this point.

She didn't expect her target to just take it, a huff of forcefully expelled air and the feeling of stomach muscles tensing under her fist the only indications that she'd actually hit a person and not a wall.

She rolled over and opened her eyes, half sitting up, and blinked.

"Sam?" she asked, voice rough and scratchy from the past days of abuse and strain.

He was breathing carefully as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, Juliet," he said softly. His voice was the gentle one, the one he used when talking to victims' families, his eyes shiny to match, his expression open and sympathetic.

She didn't want any of it.

She just wanted Shawn back.

"He's..." She couldn't say it still, couldn't truly think of it beyond the fact that he was not present at the moment, but even though she was thinking of it like a business trip or a vacation, she knew-deep down—that he wouldn't be coming back.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, and his face shifted, his own sorrow breaking through for a moment.

She wanted to punch him again.

She hugged him instead.

Buried her face at the crook of his neck, wrapped her arms around his waist, and sobbed, once, twice...

He returned the embrace immediately, holding her close, rubbing her back. He rocked slightly, murmured meaningless soothing noises.

"I'm not ready," she confessed when the bulk of her tears this round had run out with the sobs. "I'm not— Sam," she pleaded and he tightened his grip and let a few of his own tears fall.

"I know. I know and I wish that it— I'm so sorry, Jules."

"Sam?" she asked after another moment. "Can I ask a favor?"

He nodded, a movement she felt when his chin shifted on her head. "Of course. Anything."

"Can you lie to me?"

She felt his Adam's apple bob.

"About what?" he asked after a moment.

"Tell me it was quick. And painless. That he didn't suffer."

A choked sound escaped him and his grip tightened briefly before he pushed her back.

"I can't," he said and she felt herself start to implode, collapsing at the center like a supernova, the rest of her falling inward.

He must have seen what was happening because he moved his hands to her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "I don't have to. It's not a lie, Juliet. It was quick. He didn't even know what happened. He was smiling one second and talking about you and... I promise. He didn't suffer, Juliet. He didn't."

It didn't stop the collapse. Maybe even sped it up.

Because even if it was true, that didn't change the fact that he really was _gone_.

A few more harsh sobs escaped before she composed herself enough to ask.

"Tell me you got it. Tell me that whatever did this is-"

"It's dead," Sam assured her. "As soon as Dean realized what it was, he fired. It's dead and burned and gone."

She nodded. That didn't help much either, but at least no one else would have to go through what she was because of the creature.

And then her eyes went wide and she clutched at Sam.

"Dean! I— When he came to tell me, I—" The back of a hand came up to her mouth and she pressed into it.

"I know. He told me. He doesn't blame you, Juliet. If anything he thinks it's the very least of what he deserves."

Juliet shook her head. "No. He's not— It's not his fault. I need to— I should apologize. Is he here?" She started to rise.

"No," Sam said, pulling her back down. "He's..." Sam grimaced. "He's at the morgue. Shawn... Dean insisted we take him in. He had a real life. He wasn't like us. He deserves to have his death documented like a real person. They did an autopsy and everything but the ME agreed with our story of an animal attack. Dean's there making arrangements to have Shawn's body released to his custody."

Juliet looked confused.

"Dean and I are both listed as next of kin along with you. Just in case something happened and—"

Juliet nodded. "Right. I— I knew that." She put a hand to her head and closed her eyes, wishing that the fog of pain, both physical and mental, would clear faster. It was doing so now that she was actually processing what had happened and the need to take care of things was kicking in, but it was slow going.

"Juliet?" Sam said hesitantly.

She opened her eyes. "Yeah," she said.

"Dean was— He wanted me to ask—"

"Yes."

Sam's brows drew down. "I don't..."

"I want him to have a Hunter's funeral."

Sam's brow smoothed.

"I know you said he wasn't like you," she continued. "But even if he wasn't a full-time Hunter, you can't tell me he was a civilian. He knew what was out there and he did his part. And..." She looked down, then back up. "He _wanted_ to be like you. Dean was the only thing that stopped him for a long time from just riding away with rock salt and holy water and a gun or seven. He may not have been a _traditional_ Hunter, but he was a Hunter. He died like one. He deserves to be remembered like one."

Sam hesitated, but had to bring it up. "Shawn's mom and dad—"

Juliet shook her head. "Won't understand. They never really did, even when Shawn tried to explain it to them. We'll have a closed casket traditional funeral for Henry and Maddie and his non-Hunter friends."

Sam nodded. "Okay. If that's what you want."

She looked at him, lips curving, but not in a smile so much. Her chin trembled and she said, "It's what _he_ would want."

Sam gave her a half-smile in return and a single bob of his head. "Okay."

"Where is Dean... I mean, they won't just _give_ him Shawn, will they?"

"Ah, no. He's having sent to a local funeral home. If you agreed, we'd break in and get him."

She nodded. "Good. Tomorrow night? I need to make the arrangements for the actual funeral. And then I'll use my badge and the threat of a lawsuit to keep the funeral home quiet about it. No one but us will know." She bit her lip. "I don't know..."

"What?" Sam asked.

She met his gaze. "Do you think Gus—"

"I think he will want to be there, yeah. He didn't embrace hunting like Shawn did, but he sort of understood. Or he at least humored Shawn."

They both smiled and laughed softly at that.

Sam rubbed Juliet's hands between his own. "He and Gus were best friends. He knew all of Shawn's secrets. He wouldn't want to be left out of this one."

Juliet nodded. "Okay. Okay." She took a deep breath, slow and mostly steady. "Okay." She looked down at herself and a hand came up her her face as she blushed. "I probably look like crap. What day is it?"

"Thursday."

She winced. "I probably don't smell so great either. I'm going to shower and clean up."

Sam's smile flickered. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but..." She punched him in the arm, but lightly, not like her earlier slug.

He still feigned pain. Then he pulled her into a hug once more. He didn't say anything, just hugged her tightly.

She returned it, then pulled away.

"I don't have to tell you to make yourself at home, do I?"

"No," he said and stood.

She disappeared into the bathroom and he left the room, closing the door behind himself.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the mirror, then shivered.

Her heart sped up when her breath fogged in front of her and then the mirror frosted over.

Writing appeared, stroke by stroke, drawn by an invisible finger.

_I love you, Jules._

A heart was added at the bottom, big and sloppily drawn.

Just like at the bottom of every other mirror note Shawn had ever left her.

"Shawn?" she said quietly, both hoping she was wrong and that she was right.

There were no further signs and after another few seconds the room began to warm, the frost turning to misty droplets that dripped and ran through the words.

She took her shower, but the actions were absent and rote. Her thoughts were on the mirror.

o.o

Dean didn't come inside when he came to pick Sam up, and it took Juliet going out to the idling Impala just to see him.

When he looked over at the opening door and realized it wasn't Sam, he went rigid. His knuckles drained to white and his face followed suit as his wide eyes locked on her.

"Jules," he breathed, then winced. That was Shawn's nickname for her before Dean'd adopted it.

But she just returned his gaze steadily for a moment.

Then she slid across the bench—not missing when he flinched back and pressed into the door. She didn't stop until she was hip to hip with him.

He was panting harshly, eyes screwed shut, waiting for a hit, so when she wrapped her arms around him in a hug, it was enough of a shock to make him jump like being hit wouldn't have.

It took him a moment to relax and tentatively return the gesture.

"Juliet?" he said in a whisper, scared in a way Dean Winchester rarely was.

"I don't blame you," she said, words muffled by his shirts and jacket where she'd buried her face against his chest. She looked up and saw disbelief and guilt all over his face. "Why would I?"

His eyes skipped away from hers. "I don't know," he said roughly. "Maybe because I got him killed?"

She shook her head and laid her head back down, though she'd turned it to the side so she could be heard—and so she could hear his heartbeat.

It wasn't the familiar rhythm she'd fallen asleep to for two and a half decades, but it was still a comforting one.

She let her eyes close as a wave of pain washed over her, but didn't try to stop it from continuing on until it faded.

"No, Dean, you didn't," she sighed.

She could hear him swallowing, trying to find the words.

She beat him to it.

"You kept him alive." She looked up again and saw the frown she expected. "Dean, if you hadn't come into his life, I never would have met him. He would have died in Iowa, another missing person that's never found. And I wouldn't have even been looking."

"I shouldn't have let him hunt," Dean countered. "I should have held firm and—"

"And doesn't that make you the modest fellow?" she said, eyebrow arching. Then she shook her head. "Shawn did what Shawn wanted to do. No one could really stop him. And again and again you kept him alive." She tightened her grip, then sat back.

"Dean, do you realize that because of you, because you followed him home from a bar in Iowa, how many lives he was able to touch? He saved so many lives because he was alive to start Psych. And not just lives. He helped a lot of people in so many ways..." She smiled slightly. "I'm not even sure _he_ could tell you how many people he helped. And that's not counting the ones he saved and touched when he helped you and Sam."

She leaned in to brush a kiss on his cheek, simultaneously reaching down to turn the car off and pocket the keys.

Sliding back across the seat she said, "Now come on. Sam helped me make Shawn's award-winning chili. Then we're going to stay up and tell embarrassing stories about Shawn until dawn or someone injures their spleen."

Dean didn't move immediately, but the creak of his door opening echoed Juliet closing hers.

She looked over her shoulder as she headed up the walk.

"And maybe you can convince Shawn that he doesn't have to hover behind me all the time. I can only put on so many sweatshirts before I look ridiculous."

Dean froze at that, but Juliet just kept walking up the stairs and into the house.

He glanced at the trunk, then shook his head and headed inside. He wouldn't be able to shoot Shawn anyway.

o.o

It was the first time Dean could remember knowing there was a ghost present for an entire evening and not once pulling out salt or iron.

Not that they could _see_ Shawn, or _hear_ him, but he found ways to make his presence known. He'd picked up on the ability to affect his environment on a physical level very quickly.

It was like a very bizarre game of charades at times as Shawn joined the storytelling that did indeed go until dawn.

Sam and Dean crashed in the guest room they normally shared—the one with two full beds that garnered a lot of questions.

The next day Juliet made them breakfast and they dealt with the spreading news of Shawn's passing. The doorbell rang almost constantly, as did the phone.

The kitchen and dining rooms were so full of food by noon that Juliet didn't bother making anything. They just had a smorgasbord of casseroles and crock pot entrees.

Anna showed up a little after noon, red-eyed and clingy. She gave her mother and Dean hugs, then attached herself to her Uncle Sam's side like she had done for most of her life.

Sam had called both her and Jaime the day after it happened and delivered the news, but Anna had been in the middle of classes and Sam told her to stay and do what she needed to be able to take the time afterward, that nothing would be happening for a few days at least. Only the promise that he and Dean would stay with Juliet soothed her enough to make her stay.

Jaime hadn't answered his phone right away—out of service area in the woods helping the FBI search for a missing person—but eventually he called back and got the news.

He drove his bike back only because he didn't know when he would be leaving Santa Barbara again and he wasn't going to abandon the graduation present from his father in some backwoods town in Kentucky.

He called when Juliet was taking a nap and Sam was holding a crying Anna, and Dean told him they wouldn't start until after dark, that he had plenty of time and not to rush and get in an accident and make his mother cry more.

Maddie made a visit, and Henry too.

Sam and Dean excused themselves to other parts of the house to avoid the tension that was present when they were in the room with the Spencer patriarch.

Gus had been notified the same day as the kids and he was taking care of things with the office, contacting lawyers about replacing Shawn's name with Jaime's on the necessary documentation. It was a coping mechanism, he said, and Sam and Dean didn't question it.

Though they did swing by the office and drag him out at dinner time, kidnapping him back to the house.

At sunset Dean and Sam gathered their things, making sure they had enough sheets and rope, as well as the charms they would use to keep Shawn's body from being hijacked by anything lurking in the shadows.

Jaime showed up shortly after they left and tried to follow them, but Anna kept him home by using him to make up for Sam's absence.

At the prescribed time, they all piled in Juliet's SUV and the somber group made their way quietly into the hills above Santa Barbara.

o.o

Shawn had behaved—mostly—during the day and kept his discernible presence to a minimum, though Juliet was aware of him the whole time.

It should worry her, his lingering, but Dean had assured her that when they were done he would move on. If Dean had to kick his non-corporeal ass to the other side, he was going.

Juliet didn't really think Shawn would try to stay. He knew the rules and consequences as well as anyone in this group.

She assumed that, knowing that, he was taking what little time he could to say goodbye.

She only wished it would be enough. Or that it could just not end.

But she knew the rules too.

They parked next to the Impala, where Sam waited with an unlit torch.

When they climbed out, he flicked his Zippo and set it ablaze, then led the way silently to the clearing.

Juliet knew what to expect. She'd been there for Bobby's send off, so the neat pyre and white-wrapped form on top weren't a surprise.

The pineapple sitting on the chest was, but it was the good kind. It made her laugh and she was sure she heard Shawn's laughter echo in her ear.

The chill that had been present at her back all day lessened, and she watched the others, noting Gus' shiver and how Anna's tears suddenly and inexplicably increased, her head ducking. Sam's throat bobbed and he nodded his head slightly. Jaime stared at his father's body, eyes shiny, but tears not falling. His eyes closed and he took in a slow, deep breath, nodding as well.

Dean was blank as a fresh new chalkboard, but Juliet could see him trembling, and knew why he looked aside suddenly.

And then the chill was back.

Phantom fingers brushed over her arms, then coldness enveloped her. An icy spot bloomed on her cheek and she heard, as clear as a bell, "I love you, Jules."

She had to close her eyes against the fresh wave of sorrow, but managed to breathe, "I love you too, Shawn."

Then Sam reverently approached the pyre and lit the kindling stacks.

It took far too long and yet was far too short.

Unlike the funeral they'd have in a few days there were no stirring words, no touching eulogies.

They'd said all of that over dinner and afterward and they'd do it again in seventy-two hours, give or take a few.

For now, they simply stood together and shared the honor of seeing a good man go to his well-deserved rest.

o.o

Dean stayed to make sure the fire was properly out. Juliet said she wanted to stay with him, so Sam agreed to drive her SUV back with everyone else.

Once the light of Sam's flashlight was gone and the night animals began to make noises again, Juliet spoke.

"You can come out now, Carlton."

Dean looked up across the clearing and after a moment there was movement.

The detective looked old and tired, but not from his years. He looked much like Juliet had felt two days ago: defeated.

No one spoke for a few minutes while Dean stirred the embers and poured on more water.

Then Dean broke it the silence before it crushed them all.

"I thought you weren't coming," he said simply. Not an accusation, just a statement.

"I wasn't going to," Lassiter said. "I—" He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, now heavy on the salt and lighter on the pepper.

Juliet went to stand by his side, tucking her arm into her partner's. "It's okay," she said. "You don't have to explain." She leaned her head to the side and rested it on his shoulder.

He looked down at her, then squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry."

She nodded. "I know." Then she looked up and smiled.

It still hurt. It always would, she hoped. But she really did feel a lot better after this evening's catharsis.

"He's at peace now, Carlton," she said. Her eyes went back to where she'd last seen her husband's body and she sniffed and blinked, but no more tears fell. "I wish he could have stayed longer, but he lived a good life. He had good friends and a good family, a job he loved and a way to help other people. He was happy." She smiled. "I can live with that."

Carlton nodded. "Yeah," he said finally. "He was." He shook his head. "He was annoying as hell, but he was happy."

Dean grunted and Juliet laughed, the sound ringing out into the night.

She gave his arm another squeeze.

"I think you just gave me his epitaph," she said with a smile. The ones she got in return from both Dean and Carlton were more then worth the sound of distress Shawn had to be making wherever he was.

* * *

Review, plz&thx.


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